


A Finger Each

by isuilde



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, gross fluff, twitter drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One meaning for each finger. Makoto and Rin, and life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Finger Each

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading this BL manga that I forgot what the title was, and it had the concept of how each finger means something, so I ran with it for MakoRin because MakoRin is gross.
> 
> (the omake is based on an art by bloomejasmine over on twitter.)

  1. **Direction**



“Excuse me, if I could have a moment of your time?”

Makoto looks tiny from behind the lenses of his camera, standing in the midst of a storm of pink petals, swirling all around him. Rin allows himself a small smile, before turning to the nervous-looking young woman who had approached him.

Sandy hair, eyes the color of the ocean, towering even without wearing high-heels. Halting Japanese spoken with a courage barely there—and for a moment Rin is thrown back to all those years ago, when he was the lone foreigner in a country he barely spoke the language, and how relieving he felt whenever a stranger’s face turned a friendly smile at him.

“Sure,” he says, letting his camera fall from his hand, hanging over his chest. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Um, I can’t seem to find where the Japanese Garden area is…”

Shinjuku Gyouen _is_ huge. It’s not like Rin himself goes to Shinjuku Gyouen every weekend or something—he hasn’t been in the French Garden area for forever, and that had been where Makoto confessed for the first time a few years ago. Even Japanese people gets lost all the time, considering how vast the national garden is. But if it’s only the Japanese Garden area—

He glances across the field towards Makoto, surrounded by cherry blossom petals like he’s the source of gravity that pulls them in, looking almost too far to reach. It’s never the case with Makoto, though—if Rin would only call, he would surely turn around with a smile, happy just to be there, and then—

“Let me show you where it is, then,” he says, and the young woman before him looks pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, is that really okay? That’d help so much, thank you, but are you sure—“

Rin laughs. “Yeah,” he says lightly, taking the first step ahead, fond eyes fixed at the tall back standing across the field, and raises an index finger to point towards Makoto. “It’s the way where my boyfriend is.”

 

 

  1. **Provocation**



There is a storm brewing, with all the clankings and clatterings happening in the kitchen. Makoto wonders if something is going to break, tonight.

He considers keeping his silence, considers tuning the noises out, or perhaps put on his earphones so  he could study in peace. But the rows and rows of letters on the book opened before him had stopped making any sense about half an hour ago, even before Rin had stormed back into the apartment, snappish and irritated and clearly in a mood. Makoto guesses it’s been a tough day for Rin—but Rin isn’t the only one with a foul mood after spending a very shitty day, so at the very least they should respect each other and not make it worse.

Besides, it’s been a really hot, suffocating summer night, and everything is _irritating_.

“You don’t have to try breaking all of our dishes while washing them,” he says, mouth twisting downwards. He knows Rin could hear the tension in his voice, knows Rin could hear the edge of patience very clearly—and stares at Rin’s back from across the table, willing him to quiet down, to stop—

Rin snorts. Doesn’t even bother to look around, and just flips him the middle finger.

The corners of Makoto’s lips curve even more downwards, displeased. He could just say something else—something sulky that he doesn’t think before actually saying it, and Rin would probably snap back. Or he could pointedly say that he’s studying, and Rin could probably care to be a bit quieter, even though not a word in the book has penetrated his brain for a while, now. It’s a stifling night, and he has a report due tomorrow, and their apartment’s air conditioning sucks, and he wants to be angry at everything, but.

Makoto sighs, closes his book, and rises to his feet. He lets the chair drag against the floor as he pushes them back—a fair warning for Rin, he figures, before making his way towards the kitchen.

“Well,” there’s a different heat now, a thrill that runs to the tips of his fingers as he winds his arms around Rin’s waist and leans in, lips brushing against the shell of Rin’s ears. “You asked for it.”

 

 

  1. **Love**



Makoto’s fingers are ridiculously long. Fine-boned, strong and firm, but unbearably gentle when they touch the things he considers precious—his friends, Haruka, the kids he teaches, his cat girlfriend, the twins, Rin’s hands, Rin’s cheek, Rin’s hair, Rin’s waist, Rin’s _everything_.

He tries not to blush at the thought. By the way Makoto flushes as well when he catches his eyes, clearly he’d failed.

At least Makoto doesn’t pull his hand away. If anything, he burrows closer, burying himself under the blankets that cocoon them together, face mushing against Rin’s arm. Rin laughs, feeling silly, that they still flush the way they did in high school when they’re supposed to be adults now; so much more responsible, so much older, more mature, so much—cooler.

“What is it?” Makoto mumbles, his lips carving the syllables against Rin’s bare skin. Rin smiles, traces a line on Makoto’s ring finger, and wonders what it would feel like to have it adorned with a band.

A simple one, probably. One in gold, and perhaps a tiny emerald stone to match Makoto’s eyes. He should ask Haruka’s blessing, too—even if Haruka’s been the one practically shoving it under Rin’s nose for at least half a year now.

With Makoto, marriage doesn’t sound very intimidating.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, and brings Makoto’s hand up to press his lips to the base of his ring finger. “I just thought that I love you a lot.”

 

 

  1. **Promise**



“Don’t be a baby.”

The haunted house attraction looms before them, dark and menacing. Makoto eyes it with no small amount of trepidation, taking in the black drapes splashed with red paint and a cartoonish drawing of Sadako that still manages to look terrifying. He gulps, automatically taking a step back, and yelps when a young boy drenched in blood smiles up at them from the entrance, his fake fangs glinting under the dim lighting.

Rin stares at him, an eyebrow raised. “Makoto.”

Makoto turns teary eyes at him. “I don’t want to come in.”

“Hayato-kun would be so disappointed if he knows that you came and didn’t even check out his class’ attraction.” At the whiny-sounding noise Makoto makes, Rin’s eyebrows climb up higher. “Makoto. It’s just a cultural festival haunted house. They’d only be using shitty props, it’s not even going to be scary.”

As if in cue, a girlish sounding scream tears out of the haunted house, and Makoto jumps behind Rin. They boy drenched in blood that guards the entrance just beams up that much wider at them.

He feels Rin’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “Come on, I’ll be going in with you. I won’t leave you alone.”

That does sound much better. He did, after all, promise Hayato, and his integrity as a coach is on the line. So he swallows, tries to ignore the bloodied grin the boy at the entrance keeps sending him, and presses himself close to Rin.

“Promise?”

Rin’s laugh is the sound of a thousand summer bells. “What are you, five?”

Rin’s little finger catches his own when they step into the dark haunted house, and doesn’t let go until the very end.

 

 

  1. **Good Luck**



The water surface glitters, splashes, _celebrates_ the swimmers pushing through.

Behind him, Haruka lets out a careful breath—the only sign that he’s feeling remotely nervous, right now. Rin doesn’t hold him for that—the sun is high up; another bright day in the course of Olympic, and earlier Kirishima-buchou had grinned at them in encouragement, “Perfect day to win the Olympic relay, don’t you think?”

Still. No swimmer would not be nervous in a race of such a scale. Olympic, after all, is _the_ dream.

But perhaps Kirishima-buchou is right. Across, he sees Ikuya making his turn, coming back towards them, neck-to-neck with the Switzerland breast swimmer on the line next to him. Rin takes a breath, easing into the familiar blend of nerve and excitement of stepping up onto the starting block, feeling it settle comfortably in his stomach, before glancing back to Haruka.

Haruka catches his gaze, eyes determined as he nods, and Rin flashes him a grin.

Then he turns around—not towards the blinding water, not yet, but to where the audience are, seeking a familiar figure that should be standing amongst those who he care the most: back straight and tall, unruly brown hair tussled by the wind, shouts echoing— _there_.

Makoto. Makoto, who is looking at cheering at Ikuya so loudly that his cheeks are all red. Makoto who somehow turns to Rin like he knows Rin is looking, catching Rin’s eyes, and—and holds his two thumbs up.

Rin’s grin splits his face. He snaps his goggles, bends forward and down into position, eyes trained at Ikuya’s figure, pushing through the final meter.

“I’ll show you a sight you’ve never seen before.”

**\-----o0o-----**

 

**OMAKE**

On the weekend after Rin came home from winning gold for Olympics, Makoto finds himself staring blankly at the ceiling from where he’s sprawled out on their couch. It’s hot, even with the air conditioner blazing on full power, and Makoto has never been lazier than when he gives up fighting the heat.

He’s not quite sure how long he’s blanking out on the couch when he hears the click of the key, and the front door opening. That would be Rin, back from his run to the convenience store for ice cream. “I’m home.”

Makoto opens his mouth, finds no energy to answer properly, and goes, “Hrrrnggghhh.”

He gets a burst of laughter, followed by the sounds of steps, muffled on the carpeted floor, and the rustlings of a plastic bag. “Are you alive, Makoto?”

From the corner of his eyes, Makoto catches Rin’s figure making his way to the kitchen, the plastic bag hitting his thigh for every step he takes. His shirt’s soaked with sweat—must be scorching hot outside—and Makoto takes a second to appreciate Rin’s look of bliss when he opens the fridge.

“Fuuuuck, it’s so hot outside.”

_It’s hot here, too,_ Makoto laments silently, turning to direct a grudging glare at the air conditioner. Maybe he should call the service people to make sure it’s still working properly, because it doesn’t feel like it, right now. Unlike him, air conditioner isn’t allowed to be lazy—it has people counting on it to make their lives easier.

“You’re not listening.”

The syllables, too close to his ear, send something through his whole being; both surprise as well as a sort of pleasant current that his body has attuned to as it recognizes Rin’s voice. He turns, finds Rin crouching by the couch, his grin sharp even if amused.

“Uh?” Makoto manages, and Rin laughs.

“I said, move over and let me sit.”

Makoto considers the request, considers also how Rin’s shirt clings to him like a second skin and how his bangs fall over his eyes, until Rin snaps his fingers before his eyes. “Ma-ko-to.”

“Hnnng,” Makoto says, and doesn’t move. Rin rolls his eyes, half-exasperated and half-amused, and pushes at Makoto’s hip. “Move over, you oaf.”

“Nooooooo,” Makoto whines, and Rin breaks into laughter. “’s hot.”

“Good, we’ve reached one-word answer instead of just noises,” Rin says, the teasing note thick in his voice. Makoto looks back at him stubbornly, and Rin’s palm hits his thigh in a light slap. “Okay, fine. You asked for it.”

Makoto blinks. “Huh?”

And then Rin is straddling him—not so much so as he flops down literally on top of Makoto, sending his breath out of his lungs with an “Oooommphh!” as Rin’s weight settles atop him, fitting comfortably. Makoto breathes through the messy red strands all over his face, feeling the shake of Rin’s body as he muffles his laugh into Makoto’s collarbones. “Rin!”

“Comfy,” Rin sing-songs, and Makoto makes a face. “What?”

“Hooooot,” Makoto whines, but it’s broken with his own laughter, too, spilling in between his breath. “Riii- _iiiiiinnn_ …”

“Hush,” Rin pushes himself up to sit, hands over Makoto’s chest, and by habit, Makoto’s legs shift up, keeping Rin in place. “You oaf.”

Makoto just out his lower lip in a mock-pout, and with a chuckle, Rin leans down to kiss it away.

**\-----o0o-----**


End file.
